


lover, be good to me.

by redhoods



Series: i am softly watching you. [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Lace Panties, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, let fjord wear dresses, set way in the future, someone tell that half orc he’s beautiful, there’s some feelings too i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Fjord swallows and rolls his shoulders, then crosses the room, nudging their shoulders together briefly, “I’m happy to have you back, Molls.” He’s said it dozens of times so far, isn’t going to stop saying it anytime soon.Molly turns a smile in his direction, small and reserved, toned down with his own second chance, “Happy to be back,” then his smile grows, sharper and reminiscent, “Now, go knock the socks off that poor wizard.” A hand presses flat to his back and shoves him with enough force that Fjord stumbles forward, out the door and into the hallway.





	lover, be good to me.

**Author's Note:**

> set sometime after the other dress fic, but can be read alone. my molly feelings got in there, i’m not sorry about it.
> 
> really, this whole thing got away from me and i’m okay with it.
> 
> late for widofjord week day two - insecurity.
> 
> title is from be by hozier.

“It should be a crime to hide thighs like those.”

Fjord turns from the mirror to scowl at Molly, self consciously brushing the dress down for what feels like the hundredth time, like he’s magically going to lengthen the hem of it. It still doesn’t work, the material still hanging just a little below his mid thigh, “If I sit down, I’m going to flash the whole tavern my goods.”

The bed shifts and Fjord turns back to the mirror as Molly approaches in the reflection, gaze pensive. Color has fully returned to him now, cheeks fully lavender and eyes nearly glowing crimson in the firelight of the room. Molly’s hands land on his shoulders, bare but the thin straps holding the dress up, “You look good, darling, embrace it.”

After a pause, he feels the brush of something over his shoulder, a curl of hair, and lifts his eyes from the hem of the dress up to see Molly staring at him through the reflection. He’s smirking and Fjord narrows his eyes, “Plus I’m hard pressed to imagine a mutual magical friend of ours will leave your side once he sees you in this.”

“Only been back a week and already meddling,” Fjord mumbles with a groan, trying to knuckle away the smile on his own lips.

There’s a soft click of heels as Molly drops back down, his eyes just barely disappearing behind Fjord’s shoulder.

“I’m invested in your happiness, darling,” Molly says, heels gently clicking on the floor as he walks to the door, pausing to see if Fjord is following him.

Fjord swallows and rolls his shoulders, then crosses the room, nudging their shoulders together briefly, “I’m happy to have you back, Molls.” He’s said it dozens of times so far, isn’t going to stop saying it anytime soon.

Molly turns a smile in his direction, small and reserved, toned down with his own second chance, “Happy to be back,” then his smile grows, sharper and reminiscent, “Now, go knock the socks off that poor wizard.” A hand presses flat to his back and shoves him with enough force that Fjord stumbles forward, out the door and into the hallway.

Scrunching his nose back at Molly, Fjord shakes his head and heads down the hall for the stairs, now taking note of the sounds coming from the tavern below. It’s loud, music and chatter and the clanking of mugs and Fjord pauses self consciously at the top of the stairs.

A hand claps his shoulder, then Molly brushes by him, laughter ringing up as he disappears down the steps.

Fjord pushes his hands down his sides, trying to get the burgundy wine fabric of the dress to be magically longer once more, but unsurprisingly it doesn’t cooperate. Inhaling deeply, he takes the stairs, slow and purposeful.

His nerves are unfounded, because no one is paying attention to the stairs when he makes it to the bottom, everyone focused on Molly, on the Hour of Honor, on the dance floor. The knot between his shoulders loosens and he breathes out quietly, takes two steps and someone whistles.

It takes him several seconds to locate the source, but it’s Beau, at one of the booths. She’s smirking at him and wiggles her eyebrows when he meets her gaze.

He flips her off, but approaches nonetheless.

There are a cluster of tankards in front of her and when he gets closer, he realizes that Veth is on her other side and Yasha is across from her.

“Ladies,” he says in greeting, scooping up one of the tankards.

Veth’s counting coins, he realizes, a massive pile of them. She grins up at him and he can see it briefly, the tangle of teeth and green skin that would have been there, “We won again!” She crows.

Fjord lifts an eyebrow at the three of them.

Yasha waves a hand, “Not me, Caleb,” she says, then points at Veth and Beau in turn.

“Where is Caleb?” Fjord asks, because there’s no point in being subtle, not when Beau is still smirking at him. He takes a long pull from the tankard and shifts on his feet to survey the room. There are too many people, even to find Caleb’s distinctive red hair.

He sees Molly at the bar with Caduceus, the two of them tipped with their shoulders pressed together, whispering furiously about something. That promises trouble but he leaves them to it, continuing his scan, “Or Jester?”

“Dancing,” Beau says and pushes his hip to turn him in the correct direction.

It still takes a few seconds, waiting for the crowd to shift and part to give him line of sight.

Caleb and Jester are pressed in close, getting jostled a little by the rowdy crowd, but neither of them seem to care, talking animatedly while the sway in lazy circles, seemingly oblivious to everything around them. There are ruddy spots of color on Caleb’s cheeks that more than likely speak to the ale he’s had, but could also deal with the topic of conversation.

Neither Caleb nor Jester seem to possess a sense of modesty about anything.

He’s so focused that he almost misses Molly approaching the dancing couple, only noticing him when he’s leaning in to speak in Caleb’s ear.

Absurdly, Fjord has to resist the urge to turn around and act as if he hasn’t been staring. He doesn’t though, he’s allowed to stare now and that sends a wild thrill through him.

When Caleb turns, their eyes meet only briefly before Caleb’s eyes drag down and even across the room, Fjord can see the way the color on his cheeks deepens and spreads. Molly’s laughing and Jester is smirking at him and he ignores them both, though he does decide to thank Molly in the morning for whisking Jester off into a dance of their own.

Caleb actually crooks a finger at him.

Beau whistles and Fjord flips her off over his shoulder as he cuts through the crowd to the human.

“Liebling,” Caleb says, voice low, already reaching out to cup Fjord’s side and draws him in closer, “You look...” he trails off and drops his eyes again.

Concern bubbles up, bitter on the back of his tongue before he can stop it. It’s too much, he looks like an idiot, Caleb doesn’t like it, all the thoughts tumble through his brain in rapid succession and he’s not sure what his face does, but Caleb makes a sound in front of him.

Like he’s been punched right in the gut.

His hands come up, cupping Fjord’s cheeks, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones, “Liebling, look at me.”

Fjord drags his gaze from where he’d been staring past Caleb’s shoulders, his chest feels tight and he blinks furiously a few times. 

Caleb pulls him down, touches their forehead so that his entire field of vision is Caleb’s pink cheeks and dark navy eyes, “You look amazing,” he says, very pointedly, “I’m torn between wanting to show you off, rub it in everyone’s face that you’re all mine.”

The way Fjord gulps doesn’t go unnoticed. Caleb’s possessiveness flares at random times and almost every time it turns Fjord’s insides into molten lava.

“But I also want to shut up in our room for the rest of the night and enjoy this all for myself,” he carries on, his hands sliding down the sides of Fjord’s neck, easy across his bare shoulders and then purposefully down his chest.

Then Caleb loops an arm around his back, “Dance with me.”

Fjord nods, shuffling in closer, pressing his cheek against the side of Caleb’s head so he doesn’t have to see the way Caleb’s looking at him for at least a minute.

There’s not much space to move out on the floor, the crowd rowdy and thick tonight, but that doesn’t seem to bother Caleb any, he simply presses in until they’re flush, swaying them around in little circles. His jaw rubs over the bare slope of Fjord’s neck and shoulder, beard scruffing over the skin in a way that makes Fjord’s blood thrum.

“I mean it,” Caleb says suddenly, when they’ve lazy circled for a song or two, the crowd still riotous around them, “You are stunning and I will tell you as many times as you need me to,” his lips brush Fjord’s jaw and Fjord turns his head enough to catch them with his own.

It’s just a brush of their lips, neither of them attempting to make it into something more, and Fjord curls his arms tighter around Caleb, “Thank you, love.”

Caleb presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw in response.

When the song ends, Caleb edges back and takes his hand, tangling their fingers together. Fjord follows in his wake, staying close to his back as they rejoin the others at the booth. The others is Molly, Yasha, and Beau only though.

Molly’s got a chair pulled up to the booth, feet kicked up on the table, rather than actually sitting in the booth and when Yasha sees them coming, she slides out and joins Beau on the opposite side.

“Danke, Yasha,” Caleb says and nudges Fjord into the booth first.

He goes, careful to keep his dress pulled down as he shifts in further, making sure to leave plenty of space for Caleb. It doesn’t matter though because Caleb slides in right up against his side so their thighs are pressed together.

Beau is grinning at them, lax and loose on the other side of the booth, her arm thrown across the back behind Yasha, “Enjoying your night?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

Fjord snatches her tankard and she actually tries to stop him, but doesn’t move fast enough. It speaks to how much she’s had and he doesn’t feel the least bit bad about draining the last half of her tankard in one go. He nearly chokes on it though when Caleb’s hand skates up his thigh.

His bare thigh, because sitting like this means his dress is pulled up almost obscenely high.

Of course, Caleb has noticed.

“Ja,” Caleb answers, while Beau glares at Fjord, “How much money did we end up winning?”

“A lot,” Yasha says with a small smile, “Veth and Jester have it with them,” she adds, seemingly unconcerned about leaving the two of them alone with a vast quantity of gold. It’s a far cry from their early days, now they’ve always got gold when they need it.

Molly leans forward, “Some portion of that better find its way back to my pockets,” he directs it at Beau, though Fjord sees the wink he tosses at Yasha.

Beau barks out a laugh, “We spent 25,000 gold on the diamond that brought you back,” she says, “I think we’re even.”

Silence reigns heavy.

“You what?” Molly’s voice has gone very quiet.

Fjord wishes there were more ale in the tankard and Caleb’s nails dig into his thigh briefly. Beau has her hand pressed to her face and Yasha sighs heavily. 

They’d all agreed not to tell Molly the cost of bringing him back,

“Someone better say something,” Molly demands.

“We’d do it again,” Yasha says, very serious, her jaw set, “And again. And again after that.”

Molly makes a strange sound and stands suddenly, nearly toppling his chair. He turns and flees.

“Shit,” Beau says.

“I got him,” Yasha replies and stands, following in the wake of Molly’s hasty escape.

“Shit,” Beau says again.

“Shit,” Fjord agrees. 

Caleb sighs quietly next to him and pushes Molly’s tankard over to Beau, “It will be fine, Beauregard,” he tell hers, “Yasha will calm him down and it will be fine.”

Beau doesn’t take the tankard, “Which of us are you trying to convince?” She asks, then breathes heavily through her nose, “No, sorry, that wasn’t fair. I fucked up.” She slides out of the booth and dumps a handful of coins on the table, “I’m going to see if I can find them. Maybe if he punches me, he’ll feel better.”

Neither of them mention that Molly is no match for any of them any longer.

Fjord slides his arm across Caleb’s shoulder and waits.

“You were right,” Caleb says, after a few minutes of them sitting in silence. His thumb is stroking along Fjord’s thigh and he wonders if Caleb even realizes he’s doing it. “We should have told him from the start.”

Squeezing Caleb’s shoulder, he shrugs his own, “Good intentions,” he says, not meanly. He has an idea of how he would feel if he’d found out the group had spent that sort of gold trying to bring him back. It’d probably be something like he’d felt when he’d found out that Molly had died trying to rescue him.

“It will be okay, ja?”

“Molly’s part of our family and he knows it,” Fjord says, turning his head to kiss the crown of Caleb’s head, “It’s going to be just fine.”

Caleb relaxes into his side and squeezes his thigh, but says nothing.

Two tankards land on the table shortly after that and Beau flings herself down across from them again, eyebrows pinched together, “Molly’s a shit,” she says and when Fjord squints at her, he realizes there’s a line of ice crystals across her cheeks.

He barks out a laugh before he can stop himself.

Caleb pinches his thigh, “He’s all right though?”

She makes a weird sound and seesaws her hand in the air, “Think so? Yasha and Deuces are talking to him. They’re very good at the whole soothing thing.”

“They are,” Fjord agrees softly and tries to decide if he should move Caleb’s hand off his thigh. In the end, he leaves it where it’s at. “Deuces and Molly are getting on well, right? It’s not wishful thinking on my part, is it?”

Beau and Caleb tend to pick up on these things better than him.

The two of them share a glance before Beau nods, “I think Caduceus is a good...” she pauses, lips pursed.

“He doesn’t look at Molly and feel guilt,” Caleb says.

Fjord takes one of the new tankards and drinks. No one touches the other tankard.

At least, not until Molly drops into the empty seat and scoops the tankard up without a word, tilting it back. Nothing sloshes when he slams it back down on the table, “You’re all assholes,” he says, “But you’re my assholes so I forgive you for withholding.”

Under his arm, the tension practically melts out of Caleb, “Gut,” he says and doesn’t offer any explanation.

Molly nods at him and that’s that.

———

Fjord finishes his ale and feels much looser and much more willing when Caleb cajoles him into dancing again. Molly winks at him when he slides out of the booth and pushes his dress down and Fjord curls a lip at him but grins as Caleb tugs him off.

There’s less people around now, the crowd settling as people get too drunk to coordinate themselves. Caleb doesn’t seem to be having that problem though, tugging Fjord back to him once again, their fronts pressed together.

“You all right?” He asks Caleb lowly, now that they’re away from the table.

Caleb’s hands flex on his hips, bunching the dress a little in a way that makes Fjord worry about his already precariously short hemline. After a lazy circle, his hands relax and then he smooths the fabric down in a way that’s much more copping a feel than trying to help out, “Ja.”

Fjord tilts his head back to look at Caleb’s face.

Their eyes meet and Caleb touches his tongue briefly to his own lower lip and Fjord offers him a smile, “Good.”

He’s got no qualms about kissing Caleb now.

This kiss doesn’t stay chaste for long, but Caleb doesn’t let it get as filthy as it could, pulling back with a renewed flush to his cheeks, “Shall we go up?”

Fjord opens his mouth -

“Yes, I was saying we should go up so I could go down on you.”

Fjord chokes then nods.

———

They don’t bother telling anyone they’re going. Anyone who sees them is going to know and anyone who doesn’t can make a good guess at it.

Fjord leads the way and doesn’t pretend it’s for any other reason than so Caleb can eye him up as they go. When they clear the landing, Caleb tucks up against his back, mouthing a kiss at the bare skin at the top of Fjord’s spine, then says mouth against skin, “How do you feel about leaving this dress on?”

It takes a moment for his brain to catch up and he fumbles the door knob, “Pretty good,” he croaks out and Caleb propels them both into the room.

Once the door clicks shut and the lock slides into place, Caleb is right there, crowding him away from the bed, “Gut, because I’d like to bend you over the table and eat you out until you’re loose enough for me to fuck you.”

“Fuck,” Fjord says, with much feeling, then, “Please,” and then, “I have to take these shoes off.”

Caleb grins at him and nods, stepping around him, “I’ll wait.” He pulls the chair away from the desk and actually sits down in it, legs crossed at the ankle as he watches.

His throat feels dry, something about Caleb sitting there watching him feels like a physical caress and he sinks onto the edge of the bed. He crosses a leg over his thigh and carefully doesn’t look in Caleb’s direction, even when he hears Caleb’s sharp inhale. There’s no point in trying to hide his smirk as he undoes the clasp for the first shoe.

It hits the floor with a dull thud.

“Fjord.”

He flicks his gaze up briefly, enough to see where Caleb’s focus is, and drops his bare foot to the floor. The other shoe hits the floor as he repeats the process, then he places both feet on the floor and spreads his thighs, rolls his hips up.

Caleb makes a sound like all air has left his body and almost launches out of the chair, “Fjord,” he says again, voice already wrecked.

“Yep?”

“You are-“

“Yep.”

Caleb pauses several steps away, “You are going to kill me,” and before Fjord can respond, “Over the table, now.”

Fjord stands and closes the distance between them to press a kiss to the corner of Caleb’s mouth, mumbling a quiet, “Surprise,” and then stepping away quickly. The smack to his ass is worth it and he turns back towards the small table against the wall.

At least it’s on the outside wall and not one touching another room.

A hand lands on his lower back then slides up, pushing gently between his shoulder blades, “Let me know if it gets to be too much for your back,” Caleb tells him and then there’s a soft thump, that he guesses is a pillow.

He bends forward over the table, his head a scant inch from the wall, his back arching because the table isn’t exactly wide enough for him to properly lean over. It’s not like Caleb’s desk at the estate. He presses his forehead to the table and breathes out when hands slide up the back of his thighs.

“Gut?” Caleb asks and he’s very close, breath ghosting warm across the back of one of Fjord’s thighs.

“Mhm, good,” Fjord answers, holding his fingers up in the shape of an ‘o.k.’ even though Caleb probably isn’t looking for it.

There’s not a verbal answer, but Caleb’s hands cup around the backs of his calves, then start the slow slide up. It’s a maddening tease that Caleb’s perfected thus far, the slow rasp of his callouses, the gentle scrape of his fingernails. Too much to tickle, but not enough to be classified as anything but teasing.

Caleb presses a kiss to the back of one of his thighs and Fjord sighs his response.

“I wish you could see yourself,” Caleb starts talking, his beard rubbing over Fjord’s thigh, “the way I see you, that is. How devastatingly beautiful you are to me.”

Fjord trembles out a quiet sound, a whining moan that he muffles against the top of the table.

“Easy,” Caleb’s hands rub up the backs of his thighs, coming to rest just below his ass where he can feel the fabric of the dress stretched, “Tell me, where did you get these and how did I miss it?” And then Caleb’s cupping his cock through the lace underthings he’s been hiding like a secret shame for weeks now.

“Ah,” Fjord swallows thickly when Caleb thumbs over the head of his dick, still covered in the lace, if just barely, “Jester got them for me a while ago. Do you -” he cuts off for no particular reason other than he can’t ask, because he’s not sure he can hear the answer.

It doesn’t matter, Caleb knows him well enough now.

One hand lifts away and Fjord can feel the dress bunching as Caleb pushes it up until it’s over the swell of his ass, “Do I like them? Is that what you wanted to ask?” 

Fjord is pretty sure the question is rhetorical, so he doesn’t bother replying, too busy trying to guess what Caleb is going to do next.

The hand that had been cupping his cock moves away, petting the back of his thigh just below the lace, “Liebling, _Fjord_ , I like them,” Caleb says and he’s closer now, his breath hot through the lace now, “I like them very much.”

“Caleb,” Fjord breathes out softly, his forehead to the table, his eyes clenched shut, “Please.”

“Mm, easy, I got you,” Caleb’s breath is still right there, hot through the lace and it makes Fjord tremble, but it’s still not enough, not what he wants. One of Caleb’s thumbs slides under the lace, just rubbing over the meat of Fjord’s ass. “I was going to take my time tonight, but I find I’m not feeling very patient any longer.”

Fjord could practically cry in relief hearing that, but instead he arches his back a little more, relishes in the approving groan that comes from Caleb.

“I’m going to step away to get the oil, I’ll be right back,” Caleb says, then presses a kiss to one of his ass cheeks, still encased in delicate black lace. Then his touch disappears and Fjord has to remind himself that Caleb wouldn’t just leave him like that.

He can hear Caleb moving around, the sounds of fabric rustling and bags being shifted.

The floor creaks when Caleb comes back closer and the vial of oil clinks when Caleb sets it by his head on the table. And then Caleb is back, bending over his back, plastering against him, “You look so good like this,” Caleb’s voice is low, accent heavier than normal. 

Fjord rumbles out a pleased sound, turning his head to try and get a kiss.

Caleb indulges him briefly, pressing their lips together, even though the angle is awkward. It means that Caleb has to stretch over him to reach though and he presses back against the line of Caleb’s cock, even though his dress and the lace of the underwear actually keep him from feeling anything but the pressure.

“Shiesse,” Caleb pants against his mouth and then lifts away, a hand flat to his lower back, “it’d be a shame to ruin these,” he says conversationally, a finger hooked in the hem. Fjord’s half expecting Caleb to rip the lace, but he doesn’t, instead just drags it down.

Not off, but down to the tops of Fjord’s thighs, baring just his ass to the room in a way that feels far more exposed than if he were simply naked.

“Gut, liebling?” Caleb asks suddenly, a hand fisting in the fabric of Fjord’s dress.

“Very good, Cay,” Fjord muffles into the wood, is about to tack on another ‘please’, but then there are slick fingers circling around his rim and he loses himself to a low moan.

There’s no teasing now, Caleb presses into him with one finger, fucking him with that one, then two, spreading them wide. And just as he’s adjusted to two, Caleb works in a third as well, bordering what might be the edge of too much, too fast, but Fjord is a panting mess against the table.

The lace underwear is almost uncomfortable now, sticky and damp in the front from the way his cock is leaking, the sensation of it threatening to drive him over the edge without even a hand on him.

Abruptly though, Caleb pulls away.

Fjord whines, forehead smacking off the table gently in frustration, but a hand pets his flank and Caleb’s devolved into nothing but Zemnian nonsense. It makes Fjord feel better, knowing that he’s not the only one wound tight.

Then Caleb takes hold, gripping his side instead of just touching, and the head of his cock drags over Fjord’s hole, teasing both of them, he thinks.

“ _Please_ ,” Fjord growls, reaching back with one hand to try and catch Caleb’s hip, though he only manages to get some of Caleb’s side, he still pulls him closer. Their groans echo off the wall as Caleb finally presses into him, one long, slow slide.

Fjord breathes through it, body trembling, prepared but still not ready for the way Caleb doesn’t quite sit still. 

He doesn’t pull out, not yet, but his hips keep twitching forward, rocking himself deeper into Fjord with every small grind of his hips. It’s a maddening feeling and Fjord releases Caleb to grip onto the edges of the table and push himself back.

Caleb swears in a string of what’s undoubtedly colorful Zemnian and then pulls back, snapping his hips forward into Fjord. And that’s the pace he sets to start, quick, hard snaps of his hips that leave Fjord unable to suck in a full breath, panting against the wood of the table.

His claws are going to leave divots.

He’s teetering wildly on the edge of orgasm, still without a hand on his own cock, when Caleb suddenly stops, pressed in deep. The whine that leaves him echoes in the room.

“Caleb,” he pants against the table.

The hand twisted in his dress pulls a little, then flattens out, like Caleb isn’t sure what he’s going to do next, “I know, liebling, I’ve got you,” he says and his voice is low and rasping. He rolls his hips and Fjord groans quietly.

“Hn, I have a feeling,” Caleb leans over him, pressing his forehead between Fjord’s shoulder blades, “I think that you could cum just like this.” Then he grinds forward, only pulling out the barest amount before he rolls his hips, and they both groan.

Fjord chokes out a sound, trying for words and not quite making it. The drag of the elastic over his dick is driving him crazy, combining that with Caleb fucking into him with short little twists of his hips, and Fjord thinks he’s going to pass out if something doesn’t happen soon. He tries again, whining out a quiet, “Please,” that’s mostly lost to the table.

“Good boy,” Caleb says, then leans back again.

It’s really the only sort of warning Fjord gets and then Caleb starts fucking him in earnest again, fast and unrelenting. One of Caleb’s hands curls tight around his hip, keeping him steady; the other is still flat against his lower back, keeping the dress hiked up.

It takes less time to drive him to the edge now, and Fjord lifts one hand, smacking it down against the table, claws digging into the wood once more. The sensations are almost too much and there are tears pricking the corners of his eyes, and his orgasm crashes into him suddenly.

He doesn’t make a sound, body locking up, back arching.

Distantly, Fjord’s aware that Caleb’s stopped moving and swings a hand back, trying to palm his hip, trying to tell him to keep moving. 

And he does, fucking Fjord through his orgasm and then after, until Fjord’s practically shaking from oversensitivity, rocking his own hips. He’s not sure if he’s trying for more or to get away, but he doesn’t care, because Caleb’s making these beautiful punched out sounds with every thrust.

Then Caleb starts babbling, streams of nonsensical Zemnian, and Fjord knows he’s close.

His thrusts go erratic, but his pace doesn’t slow and then Caleb blankets his back once more, panting. His hand moves from Fjord’s hip to cupping his cock through the lace of the underwear, completely soaked through, and Fjord nearly shouts, his vision whiting out.

When he’s aware of things again, Caleb is grinding his way through his own orgasm, groaning lowly against Fjord’s back. He stills all at once, hands on Fjord’s side, forehead against his back. 

“Fuck,” Fjord pants out with great feeling.

“Ja,” Caleb agrees and makes no move to pull away.

Fjord turns his head, planting his cheek on the table and working his claws out of the table so he can swipe at his face. His back hurts and he wants to get the completely soiled, but hopefully not entirely ruined underwear off, but he’s not sure his shaking thighs are going to hold him up.

Caleb starts petting his left flank gently, nudging gentle kisses against his back through the fabric of the dress, “Are you all right?” He pauses, chin pressing gently into Fjord’s spine, “I was not expecting that.”

Planting his palm flat on the table, Fjord pushes up until Caleb gets the hint. 

The withdrawal isn’t pleasant and Fjord scrunches his nose a little, wobbling on the spot as he straightens out, “I think—“ he stops, because he’s not sure what he’s thinking in the moment. He scrubs a hand through his hair then takes hold of the bottom hem of the dress and hikes it up.

With the fabric out of the way, he finds Caleb’s moved away to the basin of water and is returning with a cloth, Caleb’s cheeks are red, the color spilling down his skin, and his smile is a little self satisfied in a way that Fjord might want to punch anyone else.

Instead he draws Caleb in with a hand and smudges a kiss to the side of his mouth, “I’m glad you liked them.”

Caleb laughs softly, presses a kiss to his shoulder, then helps him to the bed, “I’m glad you liked them too,” he says, when Fjord sprawls on the bed. His eyes purposefully dip to the lace and Fjord nods, lifting his hips so the material can be eased down his legs.

A nudge to his hip and he rolls onto his belly, diagonal across the bed, “They were surprisingly comfortable, though once I was hard, it was almost torture.”

“Almost?” Caleb asks and there’s a gentle kiss pressed to his lower back, the gentle scrape of a beard. Then the damp rag follows, down his back and between his cheeks, and Fjord shifts, a little restless, a lot over sensitive. 

He hums his answer into Caleb’s pillow, already drowsing while Caleb cleans him with gentle swipes of the cloth.

Once he’s done, the cloth gets tossed to the side and the bed dips as Caleb joins him, pushing him to his own side of the bed, “I hope no one downstairs heard you.” It’s a teasing dig as Caleb fits against his side, a leg thrown over Fjord’s legs, a thin arm slung over his back.

Fjord turns his head enough to crack one eye open, “Was I that loud?”

“Mm, ja, the second time,” Caleb says and leans over to press a kiss to one tusk and then his eyebrow, “I didn’t think you head it in you.”

Huffing, he shifts and tucks his face under Caleb’s shoulder, partially hiding and partially comfortable, “Me neither,” he admits, once he can’t actually see Caleb’s expression.

Caleb moves but doesn’t try to dislodge him, “Sleep, liebling.”

The candles around the room extinguish and Fjord hums, then slides his arm over Caleb’s middle. Sleep is closing in on him, but he’s happy and comfortable, so the rumbling starts deep in his chest, and he yawns out an, “I love you.”

Caleb’s laugh is a quiet, pleased thing, and a hand cards through his hair, “I love you too, Fjord, now sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> next follow up: caleb’s desk? we’ll see.
> 
> i’m on twitter and tumblr.


End file.
